


Patrick Bateman Is An Asshole

by Ghiacciolite



Category: American Psycho - All Media Types
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Misogyny, Oral Sex, Patrick Bateman being Patrick Bateman, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28739508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghiacciolite/pseuds/Ghiacciolite
Summary: You and Patrick Bateman don't get along at the office. He decides to take things into his own hands.
Relationships: Patrick Bateman/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	Patrick Bateman Is An Asshole

**Author's Note:**

> I always feel a little bad writing characters who say and do such awful things, but at the same time it's fun because it's so different.

You had only been working at the Pierce & Pierce investment firm for a few months, but you had already butted heads with Patrick Bateman on several occasions. He was a stubborn, misogynistic pig with outdated ideas, and it drove you crazy that no one else seemed to notice or care. 

After a particularly loud argument between the two of you over whether or not to acquire a small bank, you were in a bad mood and couldn't wait to get home. The streets were as crowded as usual as you weaved your way past hundreds of strangers, making a beeline for the trendy new coffee shop that had recently opened.

The entire time you were waiting in line, you felt an unusual sense of dread, a strange feeling that someone was watching you. You looked around calmly, keeping a casual air about you in the crowded cafe. You ordered your coffee and waited, the feeling remaining. But as far as you could tell, there was no one paying any attention to you at all. You brushed the feeling aside and sipped your coffee, waiting for the after work rush to die down a little.

By the time your apartment building came into view, the sun was starting to set. The crowds had mostly dispersed, at least enough to where you weren't having to shove your way past gawking tourists and impatient businessmen, and all you could think about was relaxing in a hot bath with a face mask on. It wouldn't be long, ever since you had discovered a shortcut, your commute home had at least ten minutes cut from it.

The shortcut was an intimidating alley, dark and poorly lit, the kind you would think held all manner of dangerous people lurking behind dumpsters and moldy cardboard boxes. But for some reason, it never did, not even once had you seen another soul while walking through it. Still, you never completely let your guard down, and always kept your purse clutched close to your body.

You made your way down the alley, trying to be cautious and quick, when you felt something – or someone – slam into your back, knocking you to the ground, snapping one of the heels on your very expensive Gaultier shoes. Both incredibly pissed off and incredibly terrified, you rolled over to see who the bastard was that shoved you.

Crouched before you and clenching your ankle in his grasp was Patrick Bateman, a dark look in his eyes that you had never seen before, even during your most heated of arguments. You began to thrash around, smacking him with your purse and clawing at him.

A hard slap stunned you just long enough for Patrick to grab your purse and throw it out of your reach, climbing on top of you and cuffing your wrists to the dumpster. Your blood went cold as you realized he had been planning this.

“B-Bateman, look, why don't we... we can just forget this happened and go our separate ways, okay? Don't do a-anything you might... you might regret, okay?” Your words weren't coming to you easily, you were panicking too much to think straight. “If this is about work, I-I-I can speak up less, agree with you more.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Do you really think I would waste my time following you across your bland routine for fucking weeks if this was _just_ about work?” 

His hands were on you, sliding up under your skirt and pulling down your pantyhose, his fingertips ripping large holes in them as you renewed your struggles.

With a fast jerk of his wrist, your panties were ripped off and shoved into his suit pocket. “No, this is about you, flaunting yourself every day in front of me in your miniskirts and high heels. This is about you shoving your way into a man's world and expecting there to not be consequences for you thinking you're good for anything more than being on your knees. So, it _is_ also about work. You're insubordinate and clearly only hired for your looks. You clearly underestimate how easy it would be for me to get you fired.”

“Patrick, it's not too late to let me go, you don't wanna do anything you'll regret later.” You pulled at your cuffs, scraping the skin on your wrists but making no progress.

“This alley is filthy, I can't believe you would go down here willingly. I thought you had at least _some_ class.” He barely acknowledged you even spoke, grabbing your ass and pulling it forward, hooking your legs around his shoulders. “Do you have any idea how much this suit cost? It's over nine thousand dollars, tailored, and the latest fashion. Your little store-bought ensemble is frankly insulting to even be seen near. Where did you even buy this, Macy's, _on sale_?”

You said nothing, just gritted your teeth and continued trying to break free. You weren't sure what the hell made Bateman think anything he was doing was making sense. All you wanted was to get home.

You jumped, chills running up your spine as the tip of his silver tongue of his made contact with your clit, his fingers holding you open and bared to him. You shivered and tried to wiggle your hips out of his grip, or at least kick him in the face, but he was stronger than you thought, his grip on your legs didn't even budge. You had no choice but to let him continue.

It both disgusted and further pissed you off how much your body was enjoying his treatment. Patrick's mouth was clearly good for more than just regurgitating facts about the latest trends and whatever stupid idea came to his mind. He was skilled, and though you hated to admit it, he was leagues better than anyone you had been with before. You quickly grew wet and bit your tongue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he was effecting you.

He pulled his head back, making you scowl. You hated him, but damn it, couldn't he at least finish you off before talking?

“You know, you should consider this an honor. I don't go down on every cheap slut, but I'm making an exception for this one.”

“J-just shut up, Patrick... if you're going to do this, then just get it over with!” You practically growled at him, your teeth bared and your face covered in sweat, your makeup ran down it, creating brightly colorful streaks on your skin.

Patrick laughed and dug his fingernails into your legs, making you yelp in pain. “Are you too stupid to get that I'm the one in charge here? You get no say over this. I'll be done when I'm done.”

He renewed his assault on you, doubling his efforts and showing no mercy. Every curl of his tongue, every time he grazed over your hole, the way he sucked hickeys on to your thighs, it was getting to be too much, too soon. You didn't have time to even think about it before it happened.

Your toes curled and your vision went white as Patrick brought you to climax, not letting up until your hips stopped bucking against him. He lowered your legs from his shoulders and wiped his mouth on your skirt.

Patrick dusted off his suit with a look of disgust and dug around in his pockets, tossing a key at you. “You're welcome.”

He left you there, and a few minutes afterwards, once the strength returned to your legs, you released yourself from the dumpster, tossing your ruined shoes inside it, and headed to your apartment. You collapsed on your bed and fell asleep. Even in your dreams you weren't free of that smug bastard.

The next day at work, everything was business as usual, until a few minutes before your lunch break. Patrick sauntered up to your desk and left a paper on it, before turning around and leaving. You picked it up and read it.

A dry cleaning bill. That absolute _bastard._

**Author's Note:**

> Patrick Bateman was especially fun to write, because he's SO self-centered and materialistic that it's almost comedic some of the things he says, a true embodiment of 80s excess and capitalism.


End file.
